The Thong
by allthingsdecent
Summary: House makes a bet that he can retrieve Cuddy's thong.


**I borrowed the oldest rom-com plot in the book for this one. Hope you enjoy. - atd**

House was standing in line at the cafeteria when Cuddy came marching right up to him.

"What are you doing here, House?" she demanded.

House looked down at the Italian cold cut sub in his hand.

"I was thirsty so. . . no wait, that's not it."

She didn't smile.

"I mean, why aren't you in the clinic?"

"I'm not sick," he said, with a grin.

"It's 2 o' clock. You were assigned to clinic duty from 1 to 3."

"Oh _that_," House said. He was now at the cash register. "Put it on her tab," he said to the cashier, jerking his head toward Cuddy.

"I got Big Love to fill in," he explained, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a too-large bite. "If we're lucky, he might treat a patient _and_ find a new wife!"

"House, they're your fellowship candidates. Not your minions."

"Tomato. _Tom-at-oh_."

"Well, guess what? Dr. Doherty really _is_ sick. He was supposed to work the clinic today from 4 to 8 p.m. So it looks like I found just the doctor to cover his shift. And by cover his shift—I mean, _you_. Not Big Love. Not Cutthroat Bitch. Not Twelve."

"Thirteen," House corrected. Then he roughly swallowed down his bite of sandwich.

"New Jersey labor law says I can't work more than a 12-hour shift," he said. "I came in at 8 this morning, so. . ."

"First of all, there's no such labor law in New Jersey. You forget, I actually have to know that kind of thing."

"Oh, right," House said.

"Second of all, you came stumbling in today around 11 a.m."

"Close enough," House said.

"House, I'm serious. I know you think it's cute, but it's not. And guess what? New Jersey labor law _does_ stipulate that I can fire an employee who doesn't do his job. So I'll see you in the clinic at 4 p.m. Also, rumor has it, that Dr. Choi, who has the 8 p.m. shift might _also _be coming down with something, so have a big lunch. You'll need to conserve your energy."

And she marched away.

House rolled his eyes. Then he heard a male voice snicker. He looked up.

It was Dr. Carl Bates, a cardiologist.

"Sucks to be you," Bates said, with a smirk.

"Let me guess: What you say every time you look in the mirror?" House cracked.

"Must be rough to have a boss who hates you so much," Bates said.

"Believe me, that's not hate," House said cockily.

"What then?"

"The other thing it generally means when a woman gives a man grief."

"What? You're saying she has the hots for you?"

"Yes, Carl. That's exactly what I'm saying. Dr. Cuddy rides me because she wants to. . .ride me."

Bates snorted.

"I knew you were an asshole House. I didn't know you were delusional, too."

House shrugged.

"I'm crushed that you don't believe me," he said.

"If you could have sex with her, you would have sex with her. End of story. Unless you're. . .a little light in the loafers."

"Would I be carrying this enormous over-compensatory phallic symbol if I were gay?" House said, gesturing toward his sandwich. Then he furrowed his brow. "Wait . . ." he said.

"Very funny, House."

"I'm not gay, you moron."

"Then prove it."

"Prove it how? By continuing to _not_ have sex with men?"

"No, prove that Dr. Cuddy has the hots for you."

"There's nothing to prove. It's a statement of fact. And what's your sudden obsession with Cuddy all about?"

"Nothing. Just making conversation," Bates said.

House squinted at him.

"That's not it. You like her. And she's shot you down."

Bate started to object. Then stopped.

"Repeatedly," he finally admitted.

"I think the fact that you're married might have something to do with it."

"Separated."

"Also, the fact that you're extremely ugly."

This wasn't technically true. Bates was no dreamboat, but he was a perfectly respectable looking guy, with cropped dark hair and a slightly square-ish face.

"Let's make a little wager," Bates said. "You manage to hook up with Dr. Cuddy and I'll do a week's worth of clinic hours for you."

"Make it a month's and you have a deal," House said.

"You just said she's hot for you. You implied it would be a piece of cake. That's only worth a week."

"Composing his Fifth Symphony was also a piece of cake for Beethoven. To the mere mortal, it would be nearly impossible. I need to be appropriately compensated for having the ability to scale such great heights."

Bates frowned.

"Okay a month," he said.

"Deal," House said.

They went to shake, but Bates hesitated.

"How will you prove it?" he said.

"You'll just have to take my word for it."

"No chance."

"Short of me videotaping it, which I obviously will do, just not for your eyes, there's no way for me—"

"Bring me her thong," Bates said.

"Her thong?"

"She clearly wears a thong. Have you seen how tight her skirts are? Besides, once when she bent over, I could see half her ass."

"Hey!" House said, defensively.

"Two minutes ago you were talking about her riding you. Now you're suddenly protecting her honor?"

_Because only I can talk about her that way_, House thought but didn't say. Instead he said, "The thong of Lisa Cuddy it is. You've got a deal."

"Oh House. I'm going to so enjoy watching you crash and burn."

"Not as much as I'm going to enjoy having sex with Dr. Cuddy."

#####

That night, just after 8 p.m., House made his way to Cuddy's office. She was still there, although about to leave—she was putting some papers in her briefcase.

"I wiped 8 noses. Swabbed 5 no-no places. Extracted an alarmingly long splinter. And admitted one actual patient with arrhythmia. In other words, your best doctor just did the work of a first year nursing student," House said to her.

"Congratulations, House. It's called doing your job," she said.

"It was exhausting."

"You didn't just spend the day in a coalmine, House. It was a hospital clinic."

He hesitated and then said, casually.

"I'm also starving. You hungry?"

Cuddy thought about it.

"Come to think of it, I guess I am hungry. Crazy day. I think I forgot to eat."

House scratched his head.

"So… were you going to go home? Or, uh, maybe go out?"

"I hadn't gotten that far. Why House? Trying to think of the best way to poison my food?"

He looked down.

"No…it's just that, um, if you're eating and I'm eating, I thought possibly we could eat…together."

Cuddy closed her briefcase and gave him a quizzical look.

"What? Like a date?" she said with a smirk.

"Yes, I guess so. Like a date."

His directness threw her off. She peered at him.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. You just, um, you look really nice tonight."

Cuddy looked down. She was wearing a nice suit—grey with beige pin stripes—but one she had worn to work many times before.

"Were you dipping into the Zoloft supply in the clinic today?" she said.

"No," House said. "Forget it. If you don't want to have dinner, we don't—"

"No, I do," Cuddy said eagerly. Then, she added with a shrug, "I mean, why not, right?"

"Right," House said, his eyes widening a bit. And he helped her on with her coat.

#####

They shared a bottle of cabernet and conversation flowed freely—as it always did between them.

Right after the waiter had cleared the plates, Cuddy kind of grinned at him.

"What?" House said.

"I just. . .can't believe we're here. Having dinner. Making conversation. Like two civilized adults."

"Is it really _that_ surprising?" House said.

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's not like I don't know there's this _thing _between us. Everyone knows there's this thing between us."

_Except Bates_, House thought.

"It's just that, I always figured it would resolve itself with, I dunno, you slamming me up against a wall and ravaging me—not with a dinner date."

House's jaw dropped open.

Cuddy eyed him mischievously.

"Just me?" she teased.

"No. Definitely not just you," he said, staring at her. He was actually beginning to get a little hard. He folded his legs. Then he cleared his throat. "Did you _want_ me to ravage you?"

"Several times," Cuddy said, with a chuckle. "But this is better."

"I can't imagine how you can possibly think this is better. . ."

"Because nowhere in that scenario—the ravaging scenario, that is—was there the possibility of a second date—or any date. This feels more real. This feels like. . .the beginning of something."

"The beginning?"

"Yeah, you manned up, House. I didn't think you had it in you. The fact that you actually asked me on a date is kind of a gamechanger."

"I'm glad," House said.

"And the best part?" she whispered, twirling a lock of her hair coquettishly. "I'm still going to let you ravage me."

######

They had taken two cars to dinner, so he followed her home. He felt giddy, like the way he used to feel when he was 7, the night before Christmas. (For all his shortcomings, John House gave great Christmas gifts: Swiss Army Knives and model planes and adventure books thick with maps and buried treasure.). House felt that same anticipation—that same sense that time had slowed to a crawl. Why did the 5 minute drive to Cuddy's house feel like an eternity?

When they got inside, he was tempted to kiss her right away, to put his hands all over her, but she said, "Open that bottle of wine, would you? I'm going to go live out the cliché and slip into something more comfortable."

He uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses.

A few minutes later, Cuddy emerged from the bedroom in a skimpy silk chemise. He practically dropped the wine.

"Whoa," he said.

"You like?" she said, doing a little spin.

"I love," he said.

He kept thinking to himself: _This was all it took to get Cuddy to have sex with me? I just had to. . .ask? _He kept waiting for the fine print.

He handed her the glass of wine. She took a sip, then looked at him.

"What are you thinking right now?" she said.

"That I want to get you off so badly," he breathed honestly.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

And he dove for her.

#####

He never wanted to see her with clothing on again. Sex with Cuddy was . . .everything. Her taste, her skin, the way she responded to his touch—the way her body curled toward him, as if by some sort of planetary pull. The rhythm they got into was nearly extrasensory—it wasn't just that she knew what he wanted. It was that she wanted the exact same things.

She was lying on top of him right now, her chin on his chest. She was still naked. His hands were casually resting on the globes of her perfect ass.

"That went well," she said, with an ironic giggle.

"Holy understatement, woman," he said.

"Okay, that went _very_ well," she laughed.

"You're amazing," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"You're not so bad yourself. It's times like this when I wish I smoked."

She rolled off him.

"So when do we do this again?" she said.

He eyed her.

"Dinner tomorrow night?" he said.

"I meant more like, how soon til you're ready to ravage me again?" she giggled. "But dinner tomorrow night sounds lovely, too."

After they had sex again, she fell asleep. House watched the rise and fall of her chest, still not believing how easy it had all been. He wanted to spend the night, but thought that was a little presumptuous. Instead, he tucked her in and fumbled to get dressed in the dark. It was then that he noticed her thong, which had been thrown—or perhaps kicked, it was all a blur at this point— across the room. He went to retrieve it, then hesitated.

_You don't need to prove anything to anyone_, he thought.

Then he thought about Bates laughing at him, calling him delusional.

_You can have Cuddy and prove Bates wrong and get out of clinic duty for a month_, he thought. It was like having your cake—and getting a blow job, too.

He grabbed the thong and hastily shoved it in his back pocket.

Then he reached down and gave her a soft kiss on the mouth.

"Thank you," he said into the dark.

######

The next night, she let him sleep over.

When he woke in the morning, she was carrying a tray with coffee, toast, and jam.

"There are two things you need to know about me," she said, placing the tray in front of him. "One, I rarely cook. Two, when I do, my efforts need to be encouraged as much as possible."

"This is toast and jam," House said. "Not exactly a frittata."

She shot him a look.

"Best toast and jam I've ever had," he corrected, which wasn't completely inaccurate.

"That's more like it," she said, crawling back into bed with him. She grabbed a piece of toast off his plate and took a bite.

"I'll have you know this jam cost $12," she said.

"Clearly worth every penny."

She laughed, took a sip of his coffee and snuggled a bit closer.

"You feel good," she murmured. "I wish we could stay like this all day."

"Why can't we?" he said. "I hear you're close with the boss."

She smiled.

"I wish I could. . .In fact, I—" she looked at the clock. "Oh shit!—I have a budget meeting in half an hour."

Taking one last quick bite of toast, she hopped out of bed and began rifling through her drawers for clothing.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" she sang, as she bounced on one heel and looked around the room for the other.

"On the dresser," House said, pointing. "And your bra is, um, on the lamp shade."

Cuddy furrowed her brow.

"Did we . . . " Then, remembering the events of the previous night: "Oh yeah, we did, didn't we?"

"Indeed we did. I had no idea you were that flexible."

Cuddy shrugged. "Yoga," she said.

"God bless yoga, then."

She gave him a dirty little smile.

_Fuck, this woman was sexy_.

House stretched languorously, watching her.

"Blow off the meeting and come back to bed," he said, holding out his arms.

"You know I can't!"

"Have you _ever_ just spent an entire day in bed?" he teased.

"Of course I have!" she said, unconvincingly.

"Liar!" he said. "You're way too Type A."

"Okay, maybe I haven't…." she admitted. "It just seems like such a waste of time!"

"Spending a day _alone_ in bed is a waste of time. But not when there's two of us. There is nothing wasteful about a day of sex, video games, and champagne in bed. Decadent, perhaps. Wasteful no."

"Well when you put it like that. . ." she said, fastening an earring.

"Whatya doin' Saturday?" he asked.

"Apparently spending the entire day having sex, drinking champagne, and playing video games in bed with you," she said.

"I love my life," House said.

######

When Wilson cleared his throat, House practically jumped out of his skin.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's not nice to sneak up on people?" he snapped.

"Sorry," Wilson said. "You seemed to be having the best day dream ever. I didn't want to disrupt."

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough. So who is she?" Wilson said, smirking.

"Nobody," House said. "I was thinking about my patient."

"Are you _in love_ with your patient? Because I didn't think 64-year-old Korean women were your type."

"What? I. . .no . . . I. . ." He frowned a bit. "Okay, close the door," he said.

"I knew it!" Wilson said, getting the door and rubbing his hands together gleefully. "I haven't seen you smile like that since Stacy. So do I know her?"

"You could say that," House said. "It's actually, uh, Cuddy."

"Good one. Seriously, who is it?"

"It's Cuddy."

"Really?!" Wilson said. He gaped at him. "For how long?"

"We've just had two dates. . .with a third one scheduled for this weekend. I spent the night last night."

"So you're…sleeping together?"

"Well, not exactly _sleeping_. . ."

"You dog," Wilson said. "I'm not going to lie, I'm actually a little jealous right now."

"Oh James, you have no idea."

"Don't rub it in."

"Sorry."

"So how did this come about? I mean, were you two just having one of your fights that feels like foreplay and nature took its course?"

"I asked her out," House said, with a shrug.

"Now I know you're full of it," Wilson said.

"Why does everyone have such a hard time believing that I would ask her out? It's a fairly logical thing to do when you're interested in a woman."

"Of course it's logical. And normal. And not self-sabotaging in any way. Which is exactly why it's unbelievable."

"I, um, saw the error of my ways. Instead of playing mind games I decided to"—he tried to remember exactly how Cuddy had put it—"man up," he said. "And it worked."

Wilson looked at him, admiringly.

"Wow. Good for you, House. I'm proud of you. I'm going to file away my jealousy and focus on being happy for my two best friends."

"Thank you," House said.

#####

The next day, Cuddy was strolling through the clinic when something caught her eye.

"Carl?" she said. Carl Bates was at the desk, looking over the patient ledger. "This isn't your normal clinic time."

"No, I'm, uh, filling in for House," Bates said.

"What? Did you lose a bet?" she cracked.

"Something like that," he said.

"Sorry, Carl. One should never bet against House. It never ends well."

And she pat him sympathetically on the arm.

Something about her touch emboldened him.

"Lisa. . . do you have dinner plans tonight?" he asked.

"I admire your persistence, Carl, but I'm actually . . . seeing somebody."

"You mean House?" he said, skeptically.

"Not that it's any of your business. But, as a matter of fact, yes. House and I have begun dating."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he said.

She had been walking toward her office. She now stopped.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it," he said.

She gestured for him to follow her. She sat down at her desk, glared at him.

"It obviously meant something," she said. "Spill it."

"You're not going to like it," he said, biting a nail.

"All the more reason to tell me."

"It's just that you sort of . . . well, you _were_ the bet," Bates said.

Cuddy actually felt the color drain from her face.

"Explain. . ." she said.

"House was kind of bragging that you had the hots for him and I asked him to prove it. So he, uh, did."

"How exactly did he prove it?" Cuddy said. She was trying very hard to keep her voice steady.

"He, uh, brought me your thong."

"My _thong_?"

"I'm sorry. It was sophomoric and inexcusable. Locker-room stuff. It'll never happen again."

"So you're telling me that House gave you a pair of my underpants?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. He actually wanted to keep them for himself, the bastard. But that wasn't the bet."

"I want it back," she said sharply.

"What?"

"I want my thong back."

"Yes Dr. Cuddy," he said, looking at his feet.

"I could have you both fired, you know."

"I know," he said. "I probably shouldn't have told you. It's just that I respect you, Dr. Cuddy."

Cuddy snorted loudly.

"And I just think you should watch out for him. He's not what he appears to be."

"Go back to the clinic, Carl. Get out of my sight. And I want it back by the end of the day."

"Absolutely."

He stood there, sheepishly, not knowing what do.

"Leave!" she barked.

So he ran out.

#####

"You deserve the Nobel Peace Prize," Wilson said, with a grin, folding himself into the seat across from Cuddy. "Gregory House is actually happy."

"He can go fuck himself," Cuddy said.

"What? How did he manage to screw it up so quickly? I saw him just yesterday and he was like a school boy in love."

"He's totally full of shit. He only asked me out because of some stupid bet."

"What? No! He told me that he asked you out because he saw the error of his ways and was done playing mind games, which. . ."—he narrowed his eyes—". . .doesn't sound like House at all, come to think of it."

"He humiliated me. Played me for a fool," Cuddy said.

"Cuddy, when I walked in on him yesterday, he was lost in some kind of reverie. Even if it did start out as a bet, you've captured his heart. He was on Cloud 9."

"I'm so stupid." Her voice was shaking her eyes were welling up. "I never want to see him again."

Wilson looked at her, feeling helpless.

"You're not stupid. If this is true, he's the one who's stupid."

"He gave my thong to Carl Bates," she said. "My fucking _thong_. I'm never going to live this down."

"Of course you are, Cuddy. Everyone in this hospital loves and admires you."

"Not House, apparently."

"Especially House."

"I hate him, Wilson," she said, blinking back a tear. "I hate him. But do you know who I hate more? Myself, for being such an idiot and falling for him."

"Cuddy, it's not like that. . .He's crazy about you. "

"Wilson I know you're trying to help, but you're actually making it worse. Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Cuddy. . ."

"Wilson, LEAVE ME ALONE."

He stood up quickly.

"I'm a phone call away. Any time, day or night, okay?"

She nodded, blew her nose, but didn't reply.

######

"Is it Saturday yet?" House said to Cuddy, standing in the doorway to her offic, grinning.

She didn't look up from her paperwork.

"Twenty-two hours, 47 minutes, and 36 seconds until we can spend the entire day in bed together," he said. "Not that I'm counting or anything. . . Make that thirty-four seconds. . .Thirty-three. . Thirty-two. . ."

She still didn't respond.

"You seem busy," he said, ironically. "Coffee later?"

Cuddy continued ignoring him. She stapled some papers together.

"Cuddy, what the living fuck?" he said finally.

"Ask Wilson," she hissed.

"I'm asking you."

"Ask Carl Bates then."

House's jaw dropped.

"Oh . . . shit," he said.

"Yeah, shit."

He closed the door behind him and sat down.

"What did he say to you?"

"He was kind of enough to give me back my thong."

House put his head in his hands. Closed his eyes, then opened them.

"I can explain. . ." he said.

"I don't want to hear it, House. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to look at you. I want you to leave my office."

"Cuddy please. . ."

"House, if you have any feelings for me at all you will leave my office immediately."

He stared at her, dumbly.

"I'm so sorry," he said. And got up and left.

######

He tried to contact her later that day, but she wouldn't give an inch. He sent her texts that she promptly deleted. He left her 8 voicemail messages that she didn't listen to. He sent Wilson to beg on his behalf, to no avail.

Finally, he went back to her office.

"Tell everyone I have a small dick," he said.

She didn't look up.

"Tell people I can't get it up," he said.

She ignored him.

"Tell them I shit the bed. Tell them I have a horrible genital warts. . .Tell them I have bad breath, boils on my ass. . .Tell them. . ."

"Are you done yet?"

"Humiliate me, Cuddy. I deserve it."

"You do deserve it, House. And worse. But here's the thing." She looked up at him defiantly. "I'm better than you."

"That's so incredibly true."

"So leave me the fuck alone."

#####

On Saturday at around 9 a.m., just when their day of indulgence had been scheduled to begin, House knocked on her door.

She came to the door in sweats. She had bags under her eyes. It looked like she hadn't gotten much sleep.

"You've got to be kidding," she said.

"Please let me explain."

"Go away, House."

"No until you let me explain."

"I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not budging until you talk to me."

"Then stay," she said—and slammed the door on his face.

Two hours later, she left to run some errands. He was still sitting on her stoop, twirling his cane.

He looked up expectantly when she opened the door. She brushed past him.

"I don't know when I'll be back. You may as well as leave now."

"Not until you talk to me," he said.

"Knock yourself out," she said. And got in her car.

She called her neighbor, Sue Masterson, from her cell.

"You see that guy sitting on my stoop?" she said.

Sue pulled back the curtain and peered through her window. "Hello, handsome," she said.

"I have a feeling he's about to leave and come back. Let me know if you hear him get on his bike, okay?"

"Oh, a sting operation. How intriguing. I love it."

"And Sue? If he does stay put, don't take pity on him and feed him either."

"Got it," Sue said.

Four hours later, Cuddy pulled back onto her street. She saw that House's bike was still parked out front. She called Sue. "Did he budge?" she said.

"Nope. He's been sitting there the whole time. Fell asleep a few times, I think."

"And you didn't feed him?"

"No. I wanted to, though. Poor baby. Whatever he did, Lisa, he's sorry."

"Yeah, well. . . . sorry's not good enough."

He popped up when she pulled into the driveway.

"Can I help you with those?" he said, taking one of her grocery bags from her.

"I'm good," she said, yanking it back.

"Are you ready to let me explain yet?"

"No," she said.

She went inside.

At 6:30, she looked out the window. He was still sitting there, with his head in his hands. He had buttoned his coat all the way up to the neck.

At 8:30, she couldn't take it anymore.

She opened the door.

"Alright. Come in. Explain yourself."

He exhaled. When he stood, his leg buckled. He rubbed it a bit, then followed her inside.

"Here," she said, thrusting a sandwich and a glass of water at him. "Eat."

"Thank you," he said, gratefully. "I don't deserve this."

"It's a turkey sandwich. Don't make a big deal out of it," she said.

Only a few days earlier, she had been flirtily demanding that he appreciate her $12 jam. How could he have screwed things up so badly and so quickly?

"So talk," she said.

He sighed, tried to shake out the cobwebs. He had been close to hallucinating on that porch.

"I'm an idiot," he said.

"We've established that."

"I've liked you for. . .well, you know. Twenty years. But instead of asking you out, like any normal guy would, what do I do? I give you shit, I make lewd comments, I make you miserable. Because I'm . . . afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I don't know. Rejection? Change? Humiliation? I mean, why do I do half the insane things I do? Self-awareness is not one of my strongpoints."

"Go on."

House had wolfed down the sandwich so quickly, she considered making him another one. There was a bowl of nuts on the table. She slid them toward him. He didn't take any. Instead he said: "So Carl Bates and I made this stupid bet and. . . it gave me an excuse to do what I've been too much of a pussy to do this whole time."

"Lie to me?"

"No! It wasn't you I lied to. I'd been lying to myself. . . I remember being in bed with you that first night and thinking, 'You moron. All it took to get everything you ever wanted was to ask. This whole time, all you had to do was fucking ask!'"

"And then you gave Carl Bates my thong!"

"Yeah, that was a bad move."

"Ya _think_?"

He looked genuinely chagrined.

"I thought I could have it all: Get the girl _and_ win the bet. If I could do it all again. . ." He got lost in a thought for a second. "If I could do it again, I would've manned up and asked you out 10 years ago. But at the very least, I would've not given Carl Bates your damn thong. But we both know how good I am at screwing things up, so . . . here we are."

"Yes, here we are."

He looked at her beseechingly.

"I'm sorry, Cuddy. I really am."

She squinted at him. He looked pathetic. Bedraggled, unshaven, exhausted.

"I believe you," she said.

"Thank God," he said.

"So you really like me, huh?" she said, wrinkling her nose.

He looked down at the bowl of nuts and gave a sheepish smile. "I'm nuts about you," he said.

"I guess spending the day outside on my stoop wasn't quite what you had in mind for today."

"I would've spent the whole weekend out there," he said.

"I believe you, you maniac."

Despite herself, she stood up, walked towards him, positioned herself between his legs.

He rested his hands on her hips, tentatively.

"You got plans tomorrow?" she said, looking down at him.

"Nope. I cleared out the entire weekend for graveling," he said.

"It just so happens that I reserved space for two on my bed for the whole day," she said, with a small smile.

His face lit up.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You see, I heard a rumor that spending a day in bed alone is no fun," she said.

"No," he said. "It isn't."

"Then I guess we'll have to do it together."

He pulled her toward him.

"Thank you," he said. He bent his head and rested it against her waist.

"You're making breakfast, needless to say," she said, ruffling his hair.

"Needless to say."

"It's a date then," she said.

And she leaned down, lifted his chin, and gave him a long kiss.

THE END


End file.
